If 1969 was caught in HiDef with long tail business models leveraging brand value across platforms and temporal access . . . (a slight load time but worth it). David Fricke states an ‘inconvenient truth’ about the mudfest:
. . . [t]here is a solid shot of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s roots-’n'-TNT set and more of the Who’s enraged dead-of-night assault, if not enough of either. Pete Townshend’s amp-gutting solo in “Amazing Journey” at least partly explains why he didn’t hesitate to whack Abbie Hoffman into the pit when the yippie bolted onstage after “Pinball Wizard.” (Hoffman: “I think this is a pile of shit while John Sinclair rots in prison!” Townshend: “Fuck off my fucking stage!”)
That exchange underscores a dirty, overlooked truth of Woodstock. The biggest massed-youth moment of the decade was also the least political: straight-up capitalism (if you bought a ticket, like I did) and hip escapism. The most direct comment on the real state of the nation — Vietnam, urban riots, civil protest — only came on Monday morning, as most of the mob headed home: Jimi Hendrix’s wrenching firefight guitar adaptation of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” If it hadn’t been in the movie, most of the Woodstock Nation would have missed it altogether. (emphasis added)
Thank goodness the Woodstock generation and their intellectual (if not actual biological) heirs lead us now in our time of crisis. If anyone can repair the Nation and hold off the Movement’s Revanchism . . . Joe Klein, please enlighten us. Poor Cenk Uygur (not that we know who he is): someone just told him that Britney lip syncs.